


Carrying Capacity

by HellishMinds



Series: A Lifeboat full of Colour Coodinated Gays [1]
Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: (somebody catch his breath), Attempted Suicide, Death of Mr Trenchcoat, F/F, Fluid!McNamara, Gay, Group chat, It fails, JD is a goner, Multi, be prepared for references, oh boi, trans!duke, will up to M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-02-23 18:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13196361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellishMinds/pseuds/HellishMinds
Summary: McNamara's home life drives them to something drastic. Chandler is actually a dork. Duke is insecure. Veronica is the Mom of three colour coordinated toddlers I stgThis is the path to something that could be Beautiful.





	1. Lifeboat

**_Dear Diary,_ **

 

**_The antiseptic smell surrounded the room like a cloud, while the lights flash out broken morse code nonsense. Looking around, you would see the amalgamation of the clumsy and the dumb - all here for medical attention in varying severity. I honestly wish I could say the same for myself right now, would maybe ease off this vice on my lungs if i’d been moments sooner- hell I’d rather it had been me than sweet naïve Heather McNamara; but lets preface this with ~~she's~~  they're okay. In hospital under psych watch for attempted suicide but alive and breathing.  Who knew that the McNamara family weren't at all like their sunshine child? Who knew that their gold-plated exterior hid a steaming pile of shit? Who am I kidding, we all knew they distanced themselves from the honestly-too-pure angel but to kick a Seventeen.Year.Old.Child out is utterly bullshit. We all knew our families are fucked up, this is small-town, suburban Ohio after all, nobody lives here without getting a little messed up in the head. But, Inner monologue that is being written to a paper based friend-book you are getting off course, backtrack._ **

 

Veronica couldn’t help but pace. She couldn't help but blame herself for not realising Heather was quieter, more morose than the literal human sunshine ever should have been. Did Heather or Heather notice anything wrong? They were her closest friends, no matter how much they derided and snipped at each other. (Chandler more so at Duke than Mac)  
Maybe not, she thought, Duke was probably an indirect reason why Heather’s here.

Or maybe that's unfair; after all they’re human, they probably have their own insecurities.

It was obvious enough when you knew where to look. Hindsight is 20/20- and a total bitch.

 

The door to Heather’s room- private, of course, her parents could afford it and couldn’t bear for their daughter to be with those poor folk, or to be embarrassed by that daughter of theirs being so spineless as to attempt suicide- opens. A man walks out, too young to be Mr McNamara, too old to be a boyfriend. He looks at Veronica with vague recognition and gestures at the door.

“Feel free- Veronica, right?”  
Veronica nodded shortly, feeling slightly weirded out by this apparent stranger knowing her name but shelving that worry for sometime her friend wasn’t in the psych ward - well not literally as this private suite doesn't scream government funded- she shakes her head softly to dispel her thoughts and gingerly slid into the room.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s cold. Not in the temperature way, but in the sterile atmosphere, the harsh beeping of the heart monitor every other second, the single bouquet of daffodils limp on the side, the dead and pale walls like Heather’s skin when Veronica had found her.  
  
The girl in question lies in bed, yellow nightdress juxtaposed against the harsh void of white bedsheets, white pillowcases, white comforter. The yellow isn’t her usual bright, ray-of-sunshine blinding joy shade either- Veronica admitted to herself- but a more of a subdued, almost sickened, jaundiced version, a pale imitation of the original. Like knock-off converse that faded when they got the slightest bit damp.  
Heather lets out a weak cough, startling Veronica from her melancholy musings on the room decor and back to the small girl looking younger than ever.  
She’s curled up, cocooned in the sheets, facing away from the door. Oh so gently, like a butterfly landing on a flower, Veronica places a hand on Heather’s shoulder, waking the frail girl from her far off reverie. The dour atmosphere dwarfs even the tall blonde as she sits up.  
“Oh, Ronnie… I’m sorry…” She looks down at her hands, clutching the comforter, “I really feel like I’ve inconvenienced a lot of people.”  
Something cold goes through Veronica at that.

“Heather, you haven't inconvenienced anyone- you don’t have to be not-so-little Miss Sunshine 24/7, the only people happy 100% of the time are game show hosts.”  
Heather sniffles wetly, smiling.

“Thanks.” She looks up quickly, then back down at her duvet, “I didn’t even want to die. I just wanted the pain to end.”

There’s tears in Veronica’s eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. She jerkily moves to wipe them away, not wanting to upset Heather any further. A hand on hers causes her to pause.  
“Don’t, Ronnie. It’s okay.”

She lets herself cry, lets herself release all the guilt and shame and sadness, lets herself sit down next to Heather and lose herself in the other girl’s arms. It takes a while, what seems like an hour but is more like a couple minutes, but she emerges, relatively whole. Well, apart from bloodshot eyes, and a puffy face, but it doesn’t matter when the sight of the smudged mascara and reddened skin means Heather’s smiling and concealing a laugh behind a hand.  
They sit together, just sitting, no talking, and for once this senior year, Veronica feels at peace. It’s horrible, knowing that the only time she’s felt this still, this serene, is when she’s in the freaking hospital, sitting next to her best friend who just attempted suicide. But at the same time, the oppressive atmosphere has lightened into something that doesn’t cause difficulty in breathing, something that allows for her and Heather to just connect.  
God, she feels pretentious.

“Ronnie?” Heather’s voice is quiet, strained even, “Uh, where’s Heather?”  
For a moment, Veronica wonders which Heather she means. It’s obvious, after that second of confusion. She shakes her head, exhales a kinda-almost-not really-laugh, turns to properly look at Heather.  
“She’s in detention- Phlegm caught her chewing out Heather. At least, that’s what I think she’s doing? Hospitals aren’t great for signal, hey?” Half-smiling, half-cringing at her terrible joke, she shoots Heather finger guns.  
The other girl smiles and rolls her eyes, faking exasperation, “That’s so like Heather, though I expect she’s probably speeding to get here right now!”

Veronica hopes Chandler doesn't wreck and end up next to Heather. That would be far too much for her heart to handle right now.

“Er Ronnie? Would you- can you? I mean i understand if you don’t want to? I mean it's like- nevermind.”  
“Hey, ask anything, Heather, I don’t bite.”   
Almost instantly, Veronica finds herself pulled into a bear hug, the majority of her body contorted awkwardly on the other girl’s lap. Her back aches after a minute but she lets Heather use her as a teddy bear. Veronica finds herself relaxing as Heather falls asleep on her chest, happy to see the small smile gracing the beautiful blondes face. She could get used to this. It’s warm, and Heather smells amazing, somehow, and she finds herself falling asleep pretty quickly. (But you want more don't you Ronnie).

The moment nearly shatters when a red-as-her-blazer tornado bursts in. Chandler gears up to start ranting, only to gasp at the adorable sight of the two pillowcases sleeping.  (Sue her she thinks they are cute as shit.) McNamara yawns and rubs her eyes, stretching her back and looks up.  
“Hey, babe.” They’re oddly calm, quiet, and maybe it's the blue-and-brown mess of hair and blazer in their lap, but holy shit, they look adorable, Chandler thinks.  
“Shit, that’s gay, Mc.” She leans over and brushes a kiss over the other Heather’s lips, “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up Heather” Heather muttered patting Veronica’s hair in semblance of fixing the birdnest.

Veronica shifts slightly, letting out a series of mumbles better fitting of a cartoon rabbit than a seventeen old AP student, “S’not your fault-”  
“It is. If I had known-”  
“Please, Chandi, don’t”  
“MacPac, I was so frightened I’d lost you, you pillowcase” She leans over again, braces herself against the mattress, “God, I love you.” McNamara closes the gap, pulling Chandler by the lapel, while the other hand still plays with Veronica’s hair as Veronica starts to babble cute shit about tri-coloured animals. Chandler rolls her eyes while Mac gasps into the kiss at Veronica and her kitten-esque cuteness. They ignore the blue draped slumberer in favor of deepening the kiss, that action alone speaking volumes of the worry and love the two Heathers couldn't explain with mere words.

Time passes, and they only part for air, sharing breaths as one. They’re so wrapped up in each other, they don’t even notice their third wheel’s eyelids fluttering, her sleep-talking subsiding.

Veronica half wakes up, and all she can see is red. Her very first thought is ‘What the Fuck?’. It’s eerily like that recurring dream she has, and to be honest, it most likely is a dream. Yeah she must be asleep judging by the noises she's hearing, a sweet lilting whimper mixing with a lower, soothing voice, most likely Chandler, judging by the tone.

“Awake there, Roni?” The red shifts, and Veronica realises that she’s been face first in Chandlers cleavage. This is definitely a dream, she hasn’t been pushed away or ridiculed instantly. Lips brush her forehead, definitely leaving some sort of lipstick stain, if it’s who she thinks it is…

“Your aim is shit. My lips are like two thirds further down.”

Heather giggles, and gently pinches Veronica’s cheek.

”Wake up you dork”  
“Oh… Holy crap. Uhhhh, this isn’t a dream?”

“Nope, you pillowcase, this is real life~”


	2. Lighthouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica's gay, Heather's flirty.   
> What else is different from usual?

Veronica freezes.  
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.  
It’s not a dream.  
She had her face in some of the hottest tits in school. And she’s still alive.   
Also, Heather and Heather are a thing.   
If it wasn’t for the cheek pinch, she’d be 100% convinced this is a product of her subconscious. Freud would have a field day.   
“Ronocle, I can hear your brain from over here,” Heather’s mellifluous voice interjects from the ensuite attached to her bedroom, “Chill out, would you?”  
“That was one time, Heather”  
“One too many, Roni”  
Veronica desperately tried not to think of Heather in the bathroom, all soapy - she could swear Heather’s up to something, she hadn’t stopped smirking the whole ride to the Chandler mansion. A couple muttered comments about how Heather (which one, she had no clue) was better with handling gay crises later, Chandler’s in the shower, and Veronica is awkwardly perched on silk sheets in a beautiful four-poster.   
She’s halfway through another gay crisis when the Heather in question walks in.  
Holy crap.  
During the school day, Heather Chandler could be described as hot. Just out of the shower, still slightly glistening and damp, red satin bathrobe concealing the bare minimum of skin, hot would be a massive understatement.   
“So, you take AP French right?”  
Veronica nods, half-confused at the non-sequitur, half-dwelling on that perfect skin (she’s not sure if she wants to be her or fuck her).   
“Good~ I hope you like foreign films, Roni.” Heather winks and bends to feed a DVD into the player, the TV screen flickering to life.  
“Uhhh, I’m not that good… I hope there’s subtitles…”  
“I’ve seen your GPA, Little Miss 4.0,” She slips onto the bed next to Veronica, shuffles back so she’s surrounded by pillows, and pats the spot next to her, “But yeah, there’s subs. C’mon, sit, relax.”  
Gingerly, Veronica moves to lean against the headboard, overwhelmed by the all-encompassing smell of strawberry-bubblegum shower-gel. An arm snakes over her shoulders and the reassuring weight of Heather presses into her side as the film starts.  
“What are we watching?”  
“Blue is the Warmest Colour~”   
She can hear- and feel- the smirk in Heather’s voice, and some unholy combination of dread and excitement coils in her belly.   
The movie seems pretty standard at first, some tale of a high school student figuring her life out, checking guys out. The sex scene kinda throws her off a bit, it seems… very explicit, from what Veronica sees of it before it’s quickly skipped through. It’s like Heather’s reading her mind- and darkest desires- as she murmurs snarky commentary throughout, mouth criminally close to her ear, breath warm against her neck.   
It’s when the second sex scene, with the blue-haired woman- whose hair is fucking amazing and Veronica has a lot of envy for- that she’s hyper-aware of how Heather’s hand is tracing circles on her collarbone, nails leaving goosebump trails of tension she doesn't fully understand. She kinda hopes that the hand will dip lower, give her some sort of resolution to all those sultry looks, skimming touches that the almighty Heather had been giving her, both this night and all those times before, but no such relief   
There’s noise downstairs, and footsteps coming up the stairs.  
“Don’t worry Roni, it’s probably just Lesser Heather” she says, a stupidly attractive smirk pasted across her face, “I told her to get her ass over here, before I stuff and mount it on the wall in study hall tomorrow.”  
Veronica almost gets lost in thoughts of Duke’s ass on display. Jesus, has she always been this gay for the Heathers? Probably. After all, the majority of the school wants to either be them or fuck them, why would she be any different? They don’t help their case with the sinfully short skirts. Veronica stands to adjust her shirt and blazer, but Heather pulls her back down with a hissed ‘don’t you fucking dare’ and a bare leg tossed over her lap. 

It’s just at this moment that Heather Duke, in all of her bitchy glory, opens the door and walks in. She’s still dressed in her green blazer and black skirt, hand on her hip as she gives Heather Chandler her best death glare. There’s something dangling from her other hand, but as soon as she clocks Veronica, its hidden behind her back. Suddenly, there’s a playful pinch to Veronica’s ass, and she yelps a little, turning to glare at Heather, who’s smirking like a cat that got the canary.  
“What is she doing here, Heather?” Duke demands, the hand on her hip coming up to point accusingly, “Did you have a fucking brain tumor for breakfast?!”  
Chandler’s body goes rigid, every line etched with fury. Without even turning to look, Veronica knew that her expression is full of stone-cold anger, the anger that only happens when she’s really pissed off; like when Ram hurled over her $400 shoes at his Homecoming party, or when Miss Fleming had given her detention earlier that day.  
“I hope you brought knee-pads, bitch.”   
The other Heather pales at her tone, pupils blown wide with what Veronica assumed was fear. There’s something going on between them, the atmosphere feels fraught and tense with something strange, and its uncomfortable.  
“Uh… I think I’m just gonna-”  
“Stay.” It’s not a question. It’s not even a statement, it’s a command (and it’s very attractive, that note of absolute power in Heather’s voice).  
“Uhhh - Okaaaay.” Veronica breaths out slowly trying to keep the flush off her face.  
Duke tilts her head to the side “Looks like the knee pads may come in useful after all.”  
“Shut up Heather. Put them to good use, would you?”  
“In front of Blushy McBlue over here?” Duke says trying to cling onto her veneer of power.  
Veronica goes to stand and promptly passes out straight into Duke, knocking them both to the floor in an undignified pile. A less than graceful plop accompanies their fall, and Chandler raises a hand to her mouth to conceal a giggle.  
“Knees. Now, Heather~”

 

Veronica groaned snuggling further into her pillow whilst holding the pillowcase, her mother had clearly washed it while she was at school because it smelt like freshly cut grass. In her half asleep mind it made perfect sense for her to be at home - until she remembered she had stayed over Chandlers house. Maybe Chandler’s spare pillows just smelt like grass and old books.   
And moved like they were breathing.   
Or giggling.   
Shit.   
Maybe she should internally panic about who was underneath her- ignore the part that hoped it was a naked Chandler like her dream- and fake sleep till she figured out who it was or they woke her up so she could claim sleepers innocence. As she woke up more, she tuned into the conversation happening and tried using her genius IQ to figure who she was sleeping on and how soon she could go hug the human Labrador.   
“Morning, Ronnie~”  
Or, you know, try to stutter and blush her way through.   
That’s fine. Totally fine.  
“Ugh, Sawyer, you’re like a fucking bag of rocks, what the fuck have you been eating?!” The voice from underneath grumbled, sounding very much like a very tired and pissed off Heather Duke. Well, that solved the question of who was underneath her, at least.  
“Roni, sweetie, darling, light of my life, can you make us breakfast? Kitchen’s just down the second staircase, to the left and then straight on~” Chandler asks, syrupy sweet and goddamn, it’s unfairly attractive for this time in the morning, “Everything should be in the fridge or whatever for you.”  
Veronica groans and says ‘yes, of course Heather’, because she’s very much whipped for at least two-thirds of her friend-group, because she really does crave some waffles or something to eat, because if she doesn’t get out of this sandwich of bodies, she’s going to do something that’s very unwise.   
She gets up, with another groan of effort, and pads downstairs, trying not to get lost in Chandler’s huge-ass mansion- it’s not just a house, whatever Chandler says- and failing miserably. It probably takes her twice as long as it should do just to find the kitchen, and then maybe five-ten minutes to actually get all the ingredients and utensils together. There’s no way in hell that she can locate the waffle iron and get it heated up without falling asleep on it herself, so she just grabs the first frying pan she can find and starts whisking together eggs, milk and flour for pancakes- European style. Well, crepes, but Veronica really cannot be asked to speak French at fuck-off-o-clock, even if its only in her head.   
Thankfully, the pancakes, a la European, are finished quickly, and she didn’t nod off once- which she counts as a personal best- so she begins the hike back to Chandler’s bedroom, holding a fucking tray like she’s a maid. Well, the thought of Chandler- or even Duke- in a maid outfit is enough to fuel her to at least the second staircase, the thought of both of them in one is enough to take her to the figurative finish line.   
She pauses outside the door, juggling the tray. There’s giggles, whispers and something that sounds like kissing (but that’s probably her subconscious acting up again, fucking Freud). Awkwardly, she asks “Ouvre la porte, s'il te plaît?” deciding to play up her role as the maid so she didn't have to balance the tray and open a door at the same time. That’s probably for the best, seeing as she really didn’t have the money to pay for a new carpet if she dropped the tray. 

Chandler being the seductress she is opens the door with a breathy “Entrez, s'il vous plaît. ” which nearly causes both Veronica and Duke to melt right there on the spot.   
“Fuck me, that's hot” Duke mumbled as Veronica put the tray down.   
“Sucre? Lait?”   
“How about a Ronnie in my lap?”  
“Oui~ I mean what- uhhhh” Veronica flushes and looks at the coffee.   
“Black, please” Duke answers, a little dazed at the lack of rejection.   
"Ohhh Ronni~ do we have another bottom on our hands" Chandler smirks and waltzes over, arms wrapping the panicking gay close to her.   
"I'd like your hands on my bottom" Veronica quips, despite her internal monologue being pterodactyl screeches to the contrary.   
“That can be arranged, Roni” Chandler smiles sweetly tracing her nail down Veronica’s back ever so lightly. Veronica curses the fact she's only in a thin sleeping vest, wishing that there was simultaneously nothing and everything in the way of that gods-damned touch, “But first, I think we should explain to you about… us. Flirting with you is fun and all, but I think it’d be better if you understood, okay?”  
Veronica can only nod numbly, wondering what in the frilly hell was going to be sprung on her. She lets herself be taken over to one of the many living rooms in the house, lets herself be sat down on the couch, sandwiched between the scent of fresh grass and strawberry bubblegum. The Heathers share a look, communicating in the way only they can, little head tilts and micro-expressions.   
Chandler starts. She’s obviously a little awkward, unused to talking so frankly about this subject, more comfortable with the politicking and innuendos she wields so easily.   
“I’m gay. Actually, we’re all pretty gay here. And, uh, we’re in a relationship? I mean, I know it’s not normal, two-person, couple stuff? But it’s still a relationship, I think the word is polyamorous? I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. But yeah, basically myself, Heather, and Heather are all involved. I know, I know, we don’t seem like it- especially at school- but Jesus Christ, Veronica, this is freaking Ohio, if we came out as gay, let alone in a polyamorous relationship, we’d be ruined! You saw what Heather’s parents did. I can’t let that happen to us again.” She’s shivering a little, expression carefully wiped of any emotion, “If you out us, I will destroy you. You can transfer to Washington, transfer to Jefferson, but no-one will ever believe you. You might be a… friend, but if you tell anyone, and I mean anyone, you’ll be at the bottom of the social ladder so fast, you won’t remember what happened.”   
Duke laughs a little, and it sounds like she’s rolling her eyes at her girlfriend's dramatic threats.  
“Whoohohoa, Heather you're pulling a me and rambling” Veronica jokes, a little off-kilter from Heather’s mood-whiplash, “It's cool but what does this have to do with me? I mean good for you and all but where do I fit? And I won’t let that happen again. Hell, I can’t even out you I’m definitely-at the very least-bi. Plus, I mean, I’m pretty sure I have a raging crush on all of you, like pretty much all of Westerberg?”  
“Well, Roni, it’s your lucky day.” Heather, Duke this time, smirks, and while its not like Chandler’s crazily sinful expressions, it’s still enough to shoot an electric shock down to Veronica’s core, “Why do you think we’ve been flirting with you for however many weeks?”

Oh. Holy shit. Wow.


End file.
